


Migraines

by thenakednymph



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol and head rubs, Hurt/Comfort, Keith doesn’t take care of himself, M/M, Massages, migraines suck, that’s what Keith has
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 06:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenakednymph/pseuds/thenakednymph
Summary: Keith catches Lance with a migraine. Thankfully he has just the thing for those.





	1. Chapter 1

Keith wanders into the common room and flicks on the light. 

He hears a sharp hiss of pain from the couch and startles. “Please,” Lance grinds out, hands over his eyes. His voice is raw and more strained than Keith has ever heard it. 

“If you have any love in your heart,” his broken voice pleads, “please, turn those off.” It should sound dramatic but it just sounds painful.

Panicked, Keith flips the lights back off, leaving him blind in the dark, his heart racing. He doesn’t know what’s wrong but he knows Lance is hurting. 

“Lance?” He gropes blindly for the couch, his vision slowly adjusting to the sudden change. 

He hears Lance let out a slow breath now that the lights are off, the couch beneath him creaking as he slowly uncurls, fingers resting gently over his eyes. He’s bowed forward over his knees.

“Are you alright?”

Instead of his usual witty responses Keith is met with an honest answer, straightforward and blunt. 

“Migraine.” 

Keith winces. “Shit.” He sees Lance turn partially towards him, starlight giving him just enough to see via the screens. 

“I'm sorry.” 

Lance doesn’t expect the honest sympathy in his voice and tries to smile in gratitude but his face hurts.

“Yeah, they suck.” Lance sounds exhausted. 

Keith stops stumbling over his feet in the dark and makes it to the back of the couch, leaning into the back of it, watching.

“How long?” he asks.

“Depends,” Lance mumbles, rubbing at his temples, “is it today or yesterday? My concept of time is melting like Dali’s clocks right now. And so is my brain,” he groans.  

Keith sighs and it sounds apologetic. The couch creaks as he leans further into it. “Why didn't you tell anyone?”

Lance shrugs, pressing a finger into his eye like somehow that will help relieve the pressure, like a lobotomy needle. 

“Wasn't this bad earlier.” He groans in frustration. “I tried to sleep it off but it just got worse.” He winces. “Feels like there’s an axe in the back of my head.” His voice cracks and Keith realizes he’s crying.

“Don't we have painkillers or something?” Keith’s hands flex around the back of the couch, wanting to help. 

“Probably, but I don't want to wake Coran and Allura needs all the sleep she can get. She works too damn hard.” He shakes his head and immediately regrets it, hissing in pain, cradling his skull with a whine. He takes a deep breath, trying to get the pounding in his head to ease and sinks carefully back into the couch, spine ramrod straight. When he speaks his voice is weak, the words slow.

“I don't know how she deals with all this on top of falling asleep and waking up only to realize everything is gone.” Lance feels Keith staring at him but it’s hard to see in the dark. He forces himself to take slow, deep breaths, trying not to be sick.

“Did you know you don't feel how much time passes when you're in those pods?” he asks. “You just fall asleep and wake up in the same moment, like no time has passed at all.” He stares at the stars shifting along the walls as the castle flies, the screens simulating the view outside without compromising the hull. The effect is stunning. The room looks gutted, wide swaths of space and stars from between the bones of the room. 

“Do you realize she fell asleep to fire and fear and woke to silence?” Lance shivers and Keith barely resists the urge to reach for him, to comfort in some way. His hands tighten across the back of the couch, the material creaking. Lance shakes his head more carefully this time and the moment is gone. 

“I don't know how she does it.” He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. “Pretty sure that would drive me mad.”

Making up his mind Keith steps over the back of the couch, bare feet hitting the cushions on either side of Lance’s hips, making him bounce. His legs bracket Lance, keeping him from rocking too far to one side. 

“What are you-?” Lance pulls away in surprise but before he can get far Keith's fingers are in his hair. 

Lance makes a noise that could be relief or distress but Keith keeps going, running the fingers of both hands over Lance's scalp and down over the back of his neck, trying to chase away the pain. 

Lance makes that noise again and Keith’s breathing shallows because  _ damn.  _ Lance sinks back against the couch between Keith's knees, heavy and boneless and that does things to Keith too, making him shiver. He scrambles for something to say to keep from fixating on that sound, on getting him to make it again. 

“Shiro gets them too,” he says thickly by way of explanation, shifting his legs around to better cradle Lance’s weight. 

“He told me this helps.” He shrugs awkwardly even though Lance can’t see it, fingers working diligently through Lance’s hair. The fact Lance isn’t complaining that Keith is mussing it tells him Lance is in a  _ lot _ of pain. There are few things he obsesses over more than his hair. 

“Not sure I'm any good at it.” His voice tapers off uncomfortably and Lance's hand flutters on the couch beside them, his weight pressing into Keith’s legs and the back of the couch.

“You are,” he mutters, his hand knocking into Keith's shin. “Thanks.” He sighs, his weight settling more comfortably. “He's right, that does help.” His words are slurred, his head lolling in Keith’s hands.

Keith swallows and nods, fingers still working through Lance's hair. 

“Good. You look like you need it.” He works in silence for a moment, smoothing the tension away from Lance's eyes, swirling his hair into various patterns with deft fingers, changing his movements to keep from getting bored.

Mussing Lance's usually impeccable hair has a smile pulling across Keith's mouth. One he quickly smothers when Lance adjusts his head briefly and winces and Keith’s hands fall still. 

“Do you have  _ anything _ for the pain?”

Lance blinks up at him, his eyes glazed. “Do you count?”

Keith lets out a disgruntled noise and taps at Lance's shoulder, making him sit up. Lance whines, Keith pressing a hand into his back to help him sit up. Keith tries to ignore how that sound makes him blush. 

“Scootch.” He slips out from behind Lance and heads for the door. He catches the way Lance's face falls and stops, the expression tugging at his heart. “Don't move, I'll be right back.” A smile, soft and sympathetic pulls at his mouth at the sight of Lance’s hair standing up in every direction. The image is so wrong Keith reaches out on instinct to smooth it down, like somehow that will make everything better. Lance watches him intently and Keith blushes. He quickly pulls back his hand, heading from the room.

A moment later he returns and Lance has his head in his hands again, massaging at his temples and eyes. He looks up when the door closes, his eyes bright with hope.

“Here.” Keith passes a glass bottle with a silver cap over to Lance from behind the couch. It's mostly full with a clear liquid inside. 

“What is it?” Lance's voice sounds thick and slow again and he uncaps the bottle, sniffing curiously. 

Keith shrugs. “Alien alcohol.” He climbs back onto the couch behind Lance. “Hits like whiskey, tastes like strawberries.” 

Lance leans back into Keith automatically, settling between his knees and downs some of the alcohol. Keith's fingers find their way back into his hair as he does. 

“Should help take the edge off.” He looms over Lance until Lance cranes his head back into Keith’s lap to look up at him. “If you tell Shiro I have that,” he warns, “I will kill you. Because then he'll kill me.”

Lance tries his damnedest not to smile. “Can't have that can we?” He grins, wide and bright, before taking another drink. The expression pulls a smile to Keith’s mouth as well. He never thought he’d miss that expression.

Keith rolls his eyes, trying to hide the smile, snitching the bottle and taking a sip himself before passing it back. Lance takes another long pull before capping it, settling the bottle in his lap.

Keith pulls off his gloves, tucking them carefully away and goes back to work. Lance takes periodic sips of the alcohol, sometimes passing it over to Keith as he works his fingers through Lance's hair. He carefully massages the tension from Lance's neck, running his fingers down behind his ears and back up into his hair again, twisting the ends. He can’t stop playing with it.

Lance is limp and warm in Keith's hands as time passes, allowing Keith to move him about gently to gain better access to the sides of his neck as needed. The trust Lance is putting in him makes Keith’s heart flutter. He’s afraid of hurting him, of ruining that trust Lance is offering. Very few people have trusted him with anything and Keith has never been good at vulnerability himself. Lance trusting him with this makes his heart flutter.

Cradling the back of Lance’s head in one hand, he runs his fingers down the side of his throat and back around his neck. He shouldn’t be indulging his desire to touch Lance but he can’t help it, not when Lance is so willing under him. It’s doing things to his heart and he struggles for some self-control. 

Keith's back starts to hurt from crouching over the back of the couch and he pokes at Lance's hip with a foot, his mind gently fuzzy and warm from the alcohol. 

“Move, my ass hurts,” he grouses.

Lance groans but sits up and Keith slides down onto the couch behind him with a soft thump, jostling them both

Keith’s hand goes to the side of Lance’s head automatically. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

Lance nods, head tipping into Keith’s hand. “Mmhmm.”

Keith’s thumb sweeps over his cheek. “Good.” 

They shuffle about for a few minutes until Keith is leaning back into the armrest, a pillow behind him. Lance is still bracketed between his legs, draped across Keith’s chest, his head tucked against Keith’s shoulder. 

Keith lets his fingers run softly over Lance's jaw, down his cheeks, over his eyes and forehead and Lance hums softly, the bottle loose in his fingers. 

“Why aren't we always like this?” Lance’s voice is whisper soft, like he's afraid to shatter the silence. The room is fuzzy and warm and Keith can't help but feel Lance's voice compliments the velvet feel of the air around them. 

“Hmm?” He blinks the soft, fuzzy feeling from his eyes and tries to focus. His head tips into Lance’s, his cheek resting against Lance’s hair. 

“Like what?” He can feel his words slurring at the edges, just enough that he knows he's relaxed from the alcohol. His fingers are still running idle patterns across Lance’s face and throat for the pleasure of it. 

Lance tilts his chin up as Keith looks down at him, one arm draped across Lance's chest, the other other idly stroking over his jaw. 

Lance gestures vaguely. There's a furrow between his brows and Keith wants to kiss it smooth. He strokes a finger over it instead. 

“Soft,” Lance whispers, his eyes fluttering closed. “Why do we fight all the time?” He reaches a hand up to tangle his fingers with Keith’s against his chest. 

Now it's Keith's turn to frown, squeezing at Lance’s fingers. “You're the one always pushing my buttons.” He pokes Lance's cheek. 

“You're the one always rising to the bait,” he mumbles back.

“So stop baiting me.” Keith scowls and Lance drops the bottle to put a hand over Keith’s mouth. The angle is odd and Keith’s startled expression pulls a half laugh and a giddy smile from Lance. 

“Shhh…” he hushes, giggling before his face goes serious again, his hand briefly cupping Keith's cheek before he lets it fall away. “See? Always fighting.” He taps Keith’s cheek. 

Lance’s eyes are bright and mournful in the dark, searching as he looks up at Keith. “I don't want to fight with you,” he whispers. 

Keith's eyes dart back and forth between Lance's, his heart racing. “I don't like fighting with you,” Keith says softly.

Lance smiles, his hand dropping to Keith's leg and pulling idly at the fabric there. “So are we gonna stop?”

Keith seems to think about it which Lance is somehow amused by, laughing. The sound vibrates into Keith's chest and he finds his grip on Lance tightening, like somehow he's afraid to lose it. Their fingers tighten around each other and Keith strokes a thumb against Lance’s.

He nods, seriously. “Yeah.”

There's a smile in Lance's eyes and he shifts his head on Keith’s shoulder, his hair tangling along his cheek. “You gonna remember that when we're both sober?” He giggles again, cheeks pleasantly flush. 

Keith smiles and something on Lance's face goes impossibly soft, making Keith want to sweep his knuckles over the curves of the expression. 

Keith bites the inside of his cheek and strokes a thumb over Lance's cheek, hovering at the corner of his mouth, lingering around the edges of that smile he’d so missed. 

“If not you can remind me.”

Lance raises his free hand, pinkie held aloft, his expression serious. “Pinkie promise?”

Keith laughs, tilts his head back and laughs, nearly knocking Lance out of his arms before they settle again, his eyes shining brightly. Keith let's his forehead rest against Lance's and giggles, squeezing him fondly. Both his arms wrap around Lance in a loose hug, linking their pinkies together.

“I haven't done this since I was six.” Keith grins. “You're adorable.” He shakes his head fondly. “Yes, I pinkie promise.” 

Lance stares at their intertwined fingers intently. “Oh.”

Keith tips his head curiously. “What?”

Lance takes Keith’s hand in both of his, running his fingers over the back of Keith’s hand. “No gloves,” he says softly. “Soft.” He turns Keith’s hand over, tracing out the lines of his palm. “Nice hands,” he murmurs. He rubs both hands over Keith's before folding it between his own, linking their fingers. 

He settles their hands over his heart, shifting to make himself comfortable and they relax onto the couch again, staring out at the stars. Some part of Keith is distantly embarrassed but he’s mostly just very pleased, happy, and comfortable, Lance’s weight keeping him warm.

“'re worthy...y’know?” Lance slurs sleepily, head heavy against Keith’s chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart. 

Keith lifts his head, realizing how close to falling asleep he is himself.

“Hmm?”

Lance squirms against his chest before settling again. “Y’re worthy.” He struggles to voice the thought but he's too drunk and too tired to form the words. 

Giving up he sighs and relaxes back against Keith. “Ask me... morning,” he slurs and Keith presses his cheek to Lance's hair, nodding sleepily. 

“Okay.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lance is the first to wake: slow, happy, warm; but with a distinct crick in his neck. He comes to slowly, blinking into the castle’s artificial light. 

He's more surprised at the lack of a hangover than he is to find he fell asleep on Keith's chest. Keith who's still sleeping soundly, his hair mussed and lips parted gently where he’s curled around Lance,, breathing deeply. Their arms are still around one another. 

Lance feels butterflies in his stomach at the sight and wishes he could wake up to Keith in the morning every day. 

He slowly disentangles himself, chewing on his lip for a moment before grabbing the coat he'd discarded at the foot of the couch and draping it over Keith in case he gets cold. He hopes no one comes looking for them and sees Keith passed out on the couch under Lance's coat. He can take the gentle ribbing but he's not sure Keith can. He'd give anything for a blanket instead but the coat is all he has so it will have to suffice and it’s cold in the room. 

He dims the automatic light as he goes, stretching with a yawn and popping his back before slipping down the hall for a shower. 

~

Lance hums softly to himself, patting a towel over his hair as he makes his way to his room, lion slippers scuffing softly against the floor. He feels more awake and happy to be in clean clothes. All he needs now is breakfast. 

His feet stutter to a stop as he pulls off the towel blinding him and sees Keith standing awkwardly in the hallway, Lance's jacket in his hands. There’s a blush high on his cheeks, red enough to be seen from a mile away. 

Seeing the tension in Keith's shoulders he does his best to break the ice. 

“Morning.” It comes out more tentative and gentle than he'd meant but Keith still startles. His eyes dart up and away and he fiddles with the coat, knuckles going white. 

“You uh-” He chews his lip before holding the coat out stiffly between them. “Thank you.” 

Lance slips easily into the dramatic persona he’s most comfortable in and flicks a hand at Keith, spotting Pidge at the end of the hall. 

“Come on, you can carry it for me. My hands are full.” He goes back to towel drying his hair and breezes past Keith, putting himself between him and Pidge as they zombie shuffle down the hall towards them. 

“Morning Pidge,” Lance sing songs, loud and obnoxious and, as expected, Pidge grumbles and flips him off, shuffling past with their eyes closed, ignoring them both. 

Lance presses his hand to the panel and wanders into his room, Keith following slowly. The coat is still in his hands. He hovers awkwardly as Lance shuffles through the closet, tossing the towel onto the bed. 

“So how'd you sleep?” he asks breezily, pulling out a change of clothes. 

Lance hears Keith choke behind him and suppresses a smile. 

“Fine. I uh, I slept fine. What about you?”

Lance smiles over his shoulder and kicks off his slippers, tucking them back in his closet. 

“Really well. It was nice to have company again. It's been awhile.” He gestures for Keith to turn around so he can get dressed, only enjoying Keith's discomfort a little. 

“And thank you, for last night. You know, with the alien whiskey and everything.” He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, suddenly awkward. “No one's…” His jaw works silently for a moment. “No one's ever done that for me before.”

Keith glances at him and their eyes lock, Keith flushing. “You're welcome.”

He shoves the coat out between them and Lance grabs it on reflex. Keith nods awkwardly and spins for the door, his job here done but his hand hovers in the air, something stopping him from leaving. 

Lance watches his hand fall, fingers closing and opening but Keith doesn't say anything as Lance pulls on the coat, still staring. 

“You know, not to scare you off or anything, but if something's bothering you, you can talk to me right?” Keith's hands flex at his sides. “Cause right now you're wound tighter than a piano wire.” Lance takes a step sideways, not quite towards but not quite away either. “Can you tell me what's bothering you?” 

Keith glances at Lance again and he smiles on reflex as he sits on the bed, trying to make himself look as non-threatening as possible, knowing how skittish Keith can be.

“I have several siblings,” Lance says dryly. “Trust me when I say I can keep a secret.” His eyes dart to Keith's mouth against his will and he forces them away. “Yup, reeaaal good at keeping secrets.” 

“What did you mean last night?” 

Lance tries not to choke as he remembers the last thing he'd said to Keith before they fell asleep. His cheeks burn and it's his turn to hide his face. He hears Keith shift anxiously, the squeal of his boots against the floor, the creak of his jacket. Lance is almost disappointed to see he’s wearing the gloves again. 

“When you said I was worthy,” he goes on to clarify and Lance feels his heart slam in his chest. “What did you mean?”

He wants to deflect, to laugh it off but the knot in his throat is getting harder and harder to swallow. He's tired of lying. 

Lance groans and covers his face with his hands, flopping back onto the bed. “Stars, I was hoping you wouldn't remember that,” he mutters. 

His hands thump onto the bed beside him and he stares at the little white stars he's scribbled onto the space above his bed, tracing the familiar constellations, trying not to wonder if he’ll ever see them again.

He turns his head and looks at Keith, trying to smile. “You don't happen to have any more of that space alcohol do you?” He's only half teasing. 

“It's in my room.” Keith points over his shoulder with a thumb. “Do you-” He trails off as Lance gestures, cutting him off.

“No, it's fine. Alcohol just makes it easier,” he explains.

Keith frowns, stuffing his hands in his pockets, visibly uncomfortable. 

“Makes what easier?” 

Lance can tell he's getting irritated so he sits up and faces Keith, taking a deep breath and taking the plunge. Keith never was very patient. 

“You are worthy,” he says, forcing himself to be blunt, direct, and maintain eye contact. “Of everything.” He laces his fingers between his knees. “I don't know what happened to you growing up but I’ve put enough pieces together to get an idea.” The more he talks the more he sees Keith shutting down so he hurries to get the words out before Keith walls him off completely or runs. 

“You're worth fighting for.” He stands slowly, needing to pace or do something to get rid of the anxiety vibrating through him. “I know everyone you've ever loved has left in one way or another but you are  _ worth _ coming back for.” He paces away from the door to keep Keith from feeling trapped. He desperately wants to reach for him, to hold Keith there until he understands just how much he means but he's too afraid of scaring him to move closer. 

“You're worth fighting for,” he whispers and finally Keith glances up, something conflicted in his eyes. 

“Why?” He looks at Lance like he's looking for answers, the strangled sound of his voice making Lance's heart ache and his shoulders sink. 

“When was the last time someone told you that?” he asks slowly, horror beginning to dawn on him as he looks between Keith’s eyes.

Keith curls into himself, crossing his arms and Lance's knees go weak. He has to sit down again to keep from crossing the space to hug him, not knowing how Keith would respond. 

He runs a hand over his face, taking a shaky breath. There are so many thoughts and questions pin-balling around in his head he doesn't know where to begin, doesn't know what's going to sound cheesy and stupid.

“You're worthy of love, Keith.” Every part of him aches as he looks up. “Everyone is. I don't know what to say to make you feel loved but stars,” he breathes, “you are so worthy of it.” 

“I have to go.” Keith slams his hand onto the panel and all but runs from the room before Lance can stop him.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s two days before Lance is able to catch Keith and then it’s by accident; he’s been avoiding Lance like the plague since their last conversation, his eyes skittering away before they can meet. It’s funny, Lance never realized how often he and Keith stand next to one another until they weren’t. It leaves him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Lance feels like he should give Keith space to come to him but he’s afraid if he does, Keith will run. He has the track record to prove it. 

On one of his insomnia walks he stumbles across Keith on the couch in the main room, a bag of ice on his neck. The similarities to the last time they’d met like this draws a small smile to Lance’s mouth. 

“Hey, you okay?” Lance pauses on his way to the kitchen, not sure if his presence is welcome. He watches the way Keith’s head is bowed low between his shoulders, concerned Keith either hadn’t heard him come in or is ignoring him. Neither bode well. 

“‘m fine,” he mumbles but his voice is low with pain the same way Lance’s had been with the migraine. 

Lance’s smile turns into a concerned frown and he changes direction, heading for the couch. 

“No you’re not.” He comes to a stop behind Keith, staring at the half melted bag of ice on his neck. “What’d you do?” 

Keith tries to twist to snap at him, but a flash of pain cuts the words off before he can and he goes rigid, slowly moving back into his former position.

“Nothing,” he grinds out, more from pain than irritation. “I’m fine.” 

Lance is having none of it. He smacks Keith lightly in the shoulder getting him to sit forward.

“Scoot.” He hops over the back of the couch, poking Keith’s hip with one lion slipper-clad foot.

“Seriously Lance, I’m fine.” He scoots forward anyway, either to make room or move away from Lance’s prodding. 

“Seriously Keith,” he throws back in the same tone. “You’re not.” He stares at Keith’s tense shoulders but doesn’t touch, not yet. He speaks softly, elbows resting on his knees, Keith bracketed between them. 

“You gonna let me help?” He can feel Keith staring at him from the corner of his eyes. “I kind of owe you one.” For a long moment Keith doesn’t move; then the bag of ice is slowly sliding away and Keith huffs, hands falling into his lap.

“Fine,” he mumbles shifting forward. “Not like you can make it any worse.” The skin of Keith’s neck is red from the cold and Lance gently presses his fingers there, searching out the knots and threads of pain. Keith’s neck and shoulders are a tangled mess and Lance frowns, tracing the knots down under the collar of his shirt. He tuts in disapproval. 

“The hell did you do?” Lance presses a warm hand into the cold skin, gently working blood back into the muscle. “You’re a mess.” 

Keith grunts. “Landed on the mat wrong and then slept on it.” He winces, shifting away on reflex as Lance hits a tender spot. “Can’t turn my head.”

Lance frowns, working his fingers into the vertebrae one at a time, testing them. 

“Yeah I can see that.” He sighs, withdrawing his hands. “Get comfortable, you’re gonna be here awhile.” Lance rolls up the sleeves of his robes and sets to the task. He loses track of time, slowly working the tension from Keith’s neck and shoulders and slowly he begins to relax. 

The knots and tangled threads of energy begin to unwind, spiraling loose until Lance can no longer reach them as they are.

Lance dips his fingers under Keith’s shirt, tugging on the collar gently. “Can you take this off?”

Keith chokes and startles away from him, twisting around. He winces and Lance makes a tutting sound in disapproval. 

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a knot, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. You’re knotted all the way up through here.” He runs a finger over Keith’s shoulder and down his back. “If you want a decent night's sleep and to be able to hit the training deck tomorrow you need to work these out.” He leans lazily on one knee, resting his chin in his hand. Keith looks less than thrilled with the idea.

“Or if you want I can leave and let you go back to icing it.” He shrugs lazily like he doesn’t care one way or the other.

Keith’s knee bounces rhythmically and Lance worries he’s actually going to chase him off. 

“I can’t raise my arm,” he says slowly. Because of course he can’t and Lance has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “I need you to help me.” 

Lance blinks at him in surprise, not at all expecting that. Keith is not someone who openly admits he needs help or asks for it.

“You sure?”

Keith nods slowly and Lance tries not to smile at the vulnerability Keith is displaying; to him of all people. 

“Alright.” He helps Keith pull the shirt off over first one arm and then down his other to keep from straining it. Lance sets it on the couch next to them, his heart skipping. 

He slides his hands over the expanse of Keith’s back, hearing his breath hitch.

“Does that hurt?” He pulls away but Keith is shaking his head. 

“No, I’m alright, keep going.”

Lance tries not to smile and lets his hands settle back on Keith’s skin. He’s warm and Lance has a hard time keeping his hands where they’re supposed to be, savoring the contact. 

Lance’s hands ache as he works the tension from Keith for over an hour, untangling the knots. Eventually he slides down to sit beside Keith on the couch, continuing to work his way down Keith’s arm and back again, chasing the threads. 

He rolls his thumb into the side of Keith’s neck, pleased when his head rolls easily on his shoulders, stretching the muscle. His eyes are closed and relaxed, that display of trust flooring Lance. He knows as paladins they’re a team and they’re supposed to trust one another but he’d always wondered if Keith actually trusted them. Here, now, Lance knows he does.

He hides a smile, sliding his hands back down Keith’s arm to work out a knot in his bicep. 

“Better?” He’s drained and sore but his heart is light.

Keith nods, his eyes still closed, melting under Lance’s hands. He looks tired but relaxed and Lance’s fingers stroke down his inner arm to his wrist, tracing over the creases in his palm. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” he says softly, “I’d say you were trying to feel me up.” His voice is teasing and a low gravel that does things to Lance, a smile smile curling one side of Keith’s lips as he sinks into the couch cushion.

“Don’t hear you complaining,” Lance tosses back, working over Keith’s forearm and into his palm instead of just admiring him. When he looks up Keith is staring at him. 

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.” 

Lance feels his heart leap into his throat at that look and he has to swallow it down before he says something stupid. 

He ducks his head, Keith’s fingers curling to brush against Lance’s when he does. 

Lance takes a ragged breath and his fingers still until he’s all but holding Keith’s hand. 

“Please tell me I’m not crazy.” He strokes his fingers along Keith’s palm to the tips of his fingers, catching along the callouses there. “This is a thing, right?” He dares a look up at Keith from under his eyebrows. He looks terrified. 

“I’m sorry,” Lance backpedals, scrambling away from him and snatching his hands back. “I didn’t-“

“Yes.” Keith cuts him off. “Yes it's a thing.” His eyes are searching, his hand still open on the couch between them, his voice pleading like he wants Lance to come back. 

They’re both red. 

Lance swallows thickly, glancing between Keith’s still open hand to his eyes and back, heart hammering in his chest. Keith’s fingers curl faintly before opening again, trying to coax him back.

“Come back?” he whispers, the sound dragging Lance’s eyes back up to his.

Lance bites at his lip, suddenly the one afraid, Keith’s presence steady beside him. He shifts restlessly, hands twitching. 

He takes a breath and tries to be brave.

“Okay.” He brushes his fingers over Keith’s hand again, nails clicking against one another softly, ghosting over Keith’s calluses and into his palm again, stroking over the secret map there. His _Abuelita_ used to read palms. Lance wonders what she’d see in Keith’s.

He squeezes Keith’s hand before passing him back his shirt.

“Get some pain killers and go to bed,” he says softly. “You’re gonna hurt in the morning.” 

Lance smiles and stands up, cracking his knuckles with a groan and shaking out his aching arms. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He smiles at Keith and it’s softer than normal. 

“Lance-”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he promises, soft and warm, heart in his throat and the tension on Keith’s face, the fear, eases.

Lance stretches and wanders back around the couch to finish his trek to the kitchen to satisfy the munchies that had woken him in the first place. 

“Hey Lance?” Keith calls again.

He stops, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “Yeah?” 

A smile flickers across Keith’s face. “Thanks.” 

Lance smiles and it’s lopsided and warm. “Anytime.” 

There’s more they need to talk about, things they haven’t addressed, but it’s progress.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: Massive overhaul for this fic incoming.


End file.
